


Avoidance

by mirrorheart179



Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Secret Relationship, can you see how much potential I've wasted, disabled!Valentine, female!Valentine, t for language, was going to have Lesbian!Rosaline but this fic died way before I got to that point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-22 21:46:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13773234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirrorheart179/pseuds/mirrorheart179
Summary: All the things that happened in the background.This was going to be a multi-chapter, complete fic but I lost all my motivation. Instead, have ~3000 words of family bonding and everyone's favorite assholes wandering around, pissed at each other and slowly building my plot.





	Avoidance

**Author's Note:**

> No particular canon. It's definitely not ResJ, though, everyone's a little too happy for that.
> 
> Kudos and comments are appreciated. :)

It had been a joke, honestly, and the night had been going swimmingly up until he made it. Then again, that was most of Mercutio’s life. Great until he opens his mouth.  


This…thing…between he and Tybalt was hard to pin down at all, let alone define, and it had been going on for months. They bickered, fought, fucked, an occasionally fought again, all in the same day. Which was fine, honestly, except sometimes they couldn’t even get past step one.  


_“Spend the night?” Mercutio breathed over the corner of his lips, “Or are you a coward?” He tacked that on softly, challenge thrumming underneath. There was really no question of that, of course, Tybalt usually did if no one would miss him, but asking made it fun._  


_Except for this time._  


_Tybalt’s smile slipped by the barest degree, “Fuck off,” He said sharply, pushing the other man away._  


_“It was only an offer, dear Tybalt…” Mercutio laughed, reeling back the joke. “I was kidding!”_  


_“Don’t, not tonight,” Tybalt sighed, “I’m going back to the party.”_  


Mercutio had watched him go, mouth set in a thin line, irritation growling under his skin. _Fucking Capulets and their fucking sensitivity._ He braced his hand on the railing again, staring into the garden below. It was empty as ever, the party humming within the walls of the house, but the garden was lit by a sea of soft yellow lanterns. Between the lights and the music, the villa seemed like an island in the night, separate from the dark streets painted with white fluorescents.  


Who knew ‘coward’ was Tybalt’s last straw? Well, Mercutio would have to strike it from his vocabulary forever, except when he wanted to piss his Prince of Cats off, apparently. Then he would use it. Repeatedly.  


“I didn’t mean it,” He said finally, “Crazy bastard.” This would blow over, like all of their arguments, but now he felt like an idiot. A tense idiot, because talking near Tybalt Capulet was akin to walking on eggshells, but an idiot all the same.  


“Rough night?” A voice said behind him.  


Mercutio smiled. “Not particularly.” He glanced back. “I thought you were asleep.” She always slept for the first few days after stays in the hospital, some strange expression of relief. 

Valentine popped the brake on her wheel with a soft click. “I always forget how thin the walls are here,” she said softly, “It’s a miracle anyone sleeps.”  


Mercutio chuckled, “I don’t.” For a wider variety of reasons than thin walls, but that wasn’t really the point.  


He finally looked at his sister properly, seeing her for the first time in what felt like months. Being twins, they had the same skinny frames, pale skin, and black hair, but she’d pulled hers back into a bun, strands working loose around her face. She’d clearly just gotten out of bed, legs clad in a pair of brilliantly blue pajamas.  


“You changed your covers,” Mercutio noted idly.  


“Yes,” Valentine agreed, looking down at her chair’s wheels. “I got bored of the stars.” The boards were covered in roses now, brilliant red blooms with green leaves.  


“I like them.” It only partially felt like a lie when he said it. Roses were awful flowers, not that he thought about them that often. Red, thorny things, prone to wilting at the slightest provocation…  


_Nope, not going there. Idiot._  


“I think I’m gonna go get plastered.” Mercutio said suddenly, “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” He loved his sister dearly, but tonight he was not one for conversation.  


Valentine smiled, ever the understanding one. “Alright. Have fun.”  


Mercutio dropped a kiss on his twin’s forehead as he left, planning very much to do just that. Maybe not at the party, but did it really matter?

  


“Tybalt, get up. We’re gonna be late.” Rosa pulled the curtains open with a snap. Dust swirled in the sunlight after she did so, like little eddies in the air. For such a clean person, Tybalt’s rooms accumulated dust with remarkable speed.  


The offending coma patient blinked awake. “What?” He groaned, sitting up.  


“It’s eleven o’clock,” Rosa said, “You promised to take Juliet to the pier, remember?”  


Shit, he did.  


Tybalt rolled off the bed, popping his neck as he straightened. Every muscle in his body hurt.  


Rosa had busied herself within his wardrobe, pulling out shirts and examining them critically. “What time did you get back last night?” She called to him as he stumbled into the bathroom.  


“Four, five…six, maybe?” The light made his eyes hurt too, a gift of last night’s party. Still, there were worse mornings. He had all his clothes on…mostly. A sock had gone missing at some point in his night. Not exactly keeping up with Capulet dignity but it probably hadn’t mattered.  


Tybalt hadn’t gone back to the party, instead choosing to grab some of his cousins from the fray and ditch early to go drinking at the riverfront. He distinctly remembered one of the younger ones falling in the water. Marco, maybe? Tomasso?  


“Well, you look horrible,” Rosa said, materializing at his elbow, “Put these on and brush your teeth. You smell like liquor.”  


“Thanks,” Tybalt answered dryly.  


Rosa set the clothes down and offered a deceptively sweet smile before leaving him to his own devices.  


Tybalt brushed his teeth quickly and spat in the sink. The foam was flecked with blood. He’d obviously torn something open again last night. Great. He rinsed it down the drain and picked up the clothes Rosa had left for him: charcoal button-up, black slacks, the black cuff she’d got him for his twenty-first birthday.  


He snapped the cuff on last, the leather tight around his wrist.  


Rosa was still in his room when he left the bathroom, picking through the contents of his dresser.  


“Haven’t got any dirty secrets, Rosa,” Tybalt said he as reached past her for a pair of socks.  


She smiled devilishly, closing the drawer. “Everyone has some.”  


“Mm.” He had a steel blade in the next drawer down, nestled in the back. He’d stolen it from Piero more than a year previous. It was a set of two; the second knife was stashed between his mattress and his bed frame, but that was for practicality’s sake.  


Tybalt slid his father’s ring on his finger after he was finished lacing his shoes. The silver was starting to tarnish again and his inner perfectionist frowned at that, but he’d deal with it later.  


“We good?” Rosa said, “You take forever to get ready.”  


Tybalt rolled his eyes. Rosa had a distinct love for her curling iron and waist-length auburn hair. She’d already turned taking-too-long into an art. “Yes, yes, I’m good. Go on.”

  


Juliet was finishing in front of the mirror when her cousins came in, Rosa leading a still bleary-eyed Tybalt into the suite. “Hi guys!” She said happily, “I’m almost done, just a sec.”  


Rosa peeled off to help her with her braid, thin fingers deftly weaving Juliet’s dark brown hair into a neat plait. “You look happy.” She observed, locking eyes with her cousin in the mirror as she tied off the end.  


“Why wouldn’t I be?” Juliet said, smearing gloss on her lips.  


“Tybalt looks so miserable. I thought he must be sick, but you look just fine.” Rosa teased, grin widening, “Maybe he was just whiny after all.”  


“I’m sorry, who’s driving again?” Tybalt said from the bedroom.  


Juliet shushed Rosa, “You look wonderful, Tybalt!” The two cousins dissolved into laughter. “We love you.”  


Tybalt snorted, “That’s what I thought.”  


When Juliet had finished, all three walked to the garage. Tybalt snagged the keys to one of Giovanni Capulet’s cars off the hook (a Ferrari hybrid, one of his uncle’s favorites) and drove them out of the villa’s gates. Rosa called shotgun and quickly hooked her phone into the Bluetooth, picking a summery mix of pop music from her own playlists. The early afternoon air was warm, promising to get warmer, and the sun was bright overhead. It was always hot in the city, especially in August. The ocean was just far enough away to be of no help.  


Tybalt drove to the pier in half a daze, only waking up when he pulled into a parking spot. Rosa’s music cut out. As he locked the car and pocketed the keys, he glanced over at his cousins. “I’m gonna go get a drink, you want anything?”  


“Tybalt, it’s only noon.” She was never going to let this morning rest, was she?  


“I meant like, water,” Tybalt sighed, “Coffee, soda, whatever awful tea you’re drinking now?” There was a shop on the next street that made disgustingly-hipster juices, meant for preteens with too much time on their hands, but their coffee was passable. He’d need it if he was ever going to wake up.  


“Blackberry milk tea,” Juliet piped up.  


“Iced caramel latte, please,” Rosa said sweetly, “Love you.”  


“I know.”  


Tybalt was gone for longer than he’d intended. Apparently, everyone needed to be on the riverfront today, and half of them needed coffee too. When he finally got out of the shop, twenty minutes had passed, and if he walked a little faster back to the pier than needed… Luckily, both of his cousins were perched on a wall within the little park, talking animatedly over Rosa’s phone. Rosa cursed as he approached, looking behind her to some unseen enemy.  


“Problem?” Tybalt said as he neared. He sat and passed Juliet her tea, who took it with a word of thanks.  


“An idiot.” Rosa answered sharply, looking back at her phone. Tybalt nudged her knee with her coffee, she recoiled from the ice as if struck. “Oh, thanks.” She said, taking it gratefully.  


Tybalt turned and surveyed behind her, but there was a crowd of people milling between the tables and fountains. It was too many to be sure of who she was talking about. “Someone being crass?” He inquired, taking a sip from his own coffee. It was cold and strong, sugar barely covering its bite. He’d had to hunt down people on Rosa’s behalf before. She’d objected, of course, not to the metered punishment but to the fact that he did it for her. His wiry cousin, fond of sugary foods, pastels, and Instagram, hit nearly as hard as he did.  


“No, he’s just dramatic.” Rosa sighed and set her phone down, grinning, “It’s almost tragic. The boy’s practically a Casanova.”  


“I hate him already,” Tybalt muttered. Juliet laughed.  


“It’s alright, I’ve got no interest in him or any other stupid boy. He’ll wander off once he stops being dense.” Rosa said, stirring her coffee, “They always do.”

  


“Romeo, what are you doing?”  


“Talking to a pretty girl.”  


“Which pretty girl?”  


“The only one that matters, Benvolio.” Romeo said, looking up at his cousin. He was sitting on the edge of the fountain, glancing over his left shoulder every so often.  


“Marie?”  


Romeo frowned. “Rosaline.”  


“Oh, her.” Benvolio said, rolling his eyes. “Which one is she again?”  


Romeo sighed, stood, and pointed through the crowd. “On the wall across the street.”  


“Uh huh.”  


“Girl with red hair and a white shirt.”  


“Oh.” She was pretty, Benvolio thought, not that he could tell. She sat on the left of a group of three, all facing away from him and Romeo. “Where’d you meet her?”  


“Mercutio’s uncle’s party.” Romeo said, still typing. The party that happened yesterday, naturally. Benvolio lost track of his cousin for two minutes and he came back in love with a pretty girl.  


Benvolio decided not to argue. Instead, he fell onto the fountain’s edge beside him. Romeo was prone to flights of fancy, not that any of them ever actually got anywhere, and it was easier to just let him get bored. There’d be another party in a few days, he’d find someone else to fall in love with there too.  


_I’m nothing if not psychic,_ he thought wryly.  


Benvolio wondered vaguely where Mercutio and their usual crowd of cousins were. He wasn’t drinking the night before, at least not too much, which couldn’t be said for the rest of their friends. Most were probably still sleeping it off in Montague territory. Romeo had been the exception to the usual Saturday hangovers, pulling him down to the pier with an oddly light mood this morning.  


_Where are u?_ He typed without thinking. His thumb hovered over the ‘send’ button for a moment before he pressed it. It used to be so easy, talking to Mercutio. Now he was acting weird and Benvolio got odd jolts in his chest before every interaction.  


He compulsively checked his phone every few minutes, even though it never beeped. His last message, Romeo’s invite to the pier, was still unanswered too.

  


Mercutio woke in the dark.  


He reached blearily for his phone, groaning with exertion, only to wince when it lit up in his hand.  


7:34 PM  


“Shit.” He said, rubbing his eye and sitting up. He’d slept all day. Still, despite the near twelve hours he had gotten, it hadn’t been particularly good. Mercutio always slept badly. Apparently drunk stupors weren’t an exception.  


His phone was lit up with six messages, none of which were ones Mercutio particularly wanted. Two were from Benvolio (oops), two from Romeo (girl trouble, again), and one each from his sister and uncle. None from Tybalt.  


Valentine’s message was an offer of dinner if he happened to be awake. Mercutio hadn’t been at the time, but this message was only a few minutes old. He answered quickly, saying he’d be downstairs in a little bit, and sent it. He’d have to clean up first. Even by his standards of composure, this was depressing.  


His uncle’s message was much shorter.  


_Come see me when you wake up. Not optional._  


Damn.  


Mercutio showered quickly, musing over his life’s recent events and found nothing that could garner such a response from his uncle. Well, he could think of a couple of things, but nothing his uncle would know about. Hopefully.  


He tied his hair back wet, running his fingers over the short part at his temple. He’d have to shave that again soon. He forwent vanity again when he dressed, skipping out on his usual skinny jeans in favor of athletic shorts, likely ones he stole from Romeo, and a comfortable shirt.  


Valentine was in the den in the basement, camped in front of the couch with reality television and takeout Chinese. She smiled when he jumped off the last step. “So, he does live.”  


“Just barely.” Mercutio said, examining the various boxes and snagging one and a pair of chopsticks. “Uncle wants me to go see him.” He set the box and chopsticks on the coffee table.  


Valentine’s eyebrows rose. “He’s been in his office all evening.”  


“Why?”  


“No idea, but you’d better go now. He did not look happy.” When Uncle wasn’t happy, there was usually hell to pay, and both of them (but especially Mercutio) had become used to that idea.  


Sadly, Mercutio abandoned his Chinese and climbed back upstairs. The walk to Purgatory was always a quick one.  


“I don’t know what happened, but it wasn’t me.” Mercutio announced when he entered the office. It was always best to proclaim his own innocence, even when it wasn’t necessarily true.  


His uncle turned. "You’re part of the problem.” He smiled grimly, “Sit.”  


Mercutio fell into the intended chair. “So…what did I not do?”  


“Some of your friends got into a fight today. The young Montague…” His uncle had to think for a moment, “Benvolio and Tybalt Capulet.”  


“I’d hardly call that bastard a friend.” You don’t kiss friends, at least not like that. You don’t get annoyed when they stomp off mid-kissing, when they ignore you for hours on end. Not that Mercutio was bitter or anything.  


His uncle looked unimpressed, “Which is part of what’s causing my problem. I try to make everyone get along, throw parties, whatever, and it never lasts. This morning started out halfway civilized and ended with a brawl in the street.” He sighed, clearly frustrated. “You and your incessant fighting and drinking are also part of this.”  


“Hey,” Mercutio said, holding his hands up, “I don’t need an intervention.”  


“As if I would try.” His uncle leaned onto the desk, “This is a warning, Mercutio, one I gave to both of the families. This war, feud, whatever they want to call it, it ends today. The punishments will be strict for the next people who try that warning, and it will be all the worse if I find out that you’re involved. Do you understand what I’m saying?”  


There, Mercutio saw the tyrant, the one his particularly stupid friends called the Prince in jest. “Yes, sir.”  


His uncle searched his face, as if looking for the smallest hint of humor, but seemingly found nothing.  


“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  


“Psst, Capulet!”  


The city had been remarkably quiet after Mercutio fled the house. Perhaps that was a testament to his uncle’s threat. It was nearing midnight and the only life was the occasional straggler hovering in the shadows or on street corners. Both the Montagues and the Capulets had evidently decided to make themselves scarce. Under normal circumstances, when Mercutio wanted to also make himself scarce, he went to the Montagues’ mansion on the eastern side of the city. There was nearly always room for him there and if there wasn’t, he just crashed with Benvolio. Easy.  


Instead, he was standing in the Capulet garden, throwing pebbles at an asshole’s window.  


Tybalt had a balcony, of course, just like the rest of the house, and his door was even open, but the pebbles and whispering were clearly not working, and Mercutio was of half a mind to just leave. Maybe he was being ignored. Maybe that was for the best.  


“Tybalt!” He said, throwing what he expected to be the last stone.  


The door creaked open.  


Tybalt Capulet stepped into the moonlight, looking like an angel with an attitude problem. “Mercutio? What the hell?”  


“Came to see you.”  


“…Why?”  


This was not exactly the reception he had been hoping for. “Because I wanted to? I can leave if you like.” He didn't want to, but he would. Maybe even quietly.  


Tybalt smirked. “I’m considering it, actually.”  


“Fine, fine, crush my dreams, whatever…” Mercutio spun on his heel dramatically, “I’m gone.” Yes, he was joking, but this was a stupid idea. He should never have wandered over here, hindsight was 20/20, blah blah blah…  


“Wait, don’t move.” Tybalt said, disappearing back into his room.  


Mercutio stalled in the shadows, knowing that any moment someone was going to come out here and see him. Why couldn’t this side of the Capulet house have vines? The silence stretched on for what felt like hours and he began to wonder if he was being tortured purposefully. Then Tybalt reappeared, something in hand. A rope ladder unrolled from the balcony’s rail, hitting the ground with a thump. 

Mercutio grinned and began to climb. “Rapunzel, Rapunzel…” He snickered to himself, imagining Tybalt singing to a flock of birds. The dress was also quite amusing.  


He hit the top of the ladder and braced his hands on the railing, looking up into Tybalt’s face. He had a bruise on his high cheekbone. “Do you have a lot of gentlemen callers?” The fabric and wood under his hand was covered in dust, he could feel it, but the thundercloud that fell over Tybalt’s face was too good not to laugh at.  


“Do you count as a gentleman, now?” He said snidely.  


“Harsh.”  


“Get over before you fall off,” Tybalt said, bracing his arm, “Or I push you.”  


Mercutio obliged. “Did Benvolio do that to you?” He said, crawling over the rail. That was ridiculous, of course, because Benvolio Montague was 5’6” and one of the least violent human beings on the face of the Earth, not that Mercutio hadn’t tried to help him.  


“No, your pet didn’t hit me,” Tybalt said, gathering up the fire ladder again, “Didn’t even try.”  


Mercutio reached for him as he turned back, turning his face into the moonlight. To his credit, Tybalt did not immediately flinch away, instead letting Mercutio examine the bruising. It was light, so far, but it’d last for a while.  


“You sound disappointed.” Mercutio remarked, “Why’d you try to fight him?”  


“He was in the way, I was angry—”  


Mercutio grinned, “Surprise, surprise.” He ran the lightest touch over the swelling in the center, where a sizeable scratch had been made into Tybalt’s usually-fair skin. Someone who had a ring on. “Your uncle, right?”  


Tybalt stilled, looking up at Mercutio, who was just barely an inch taller. “How’d you know?”  


“Looks like a backhand.” Of course, because that was the only way to get a long mark like that with such light bruising. Tybalt probably hadn’t even flinched. Would have kept himself from doing so. “I'm also not an idiot, Capulet.” He dropped his hand.  


Tybalt actually smiled, though it was colored bitterly.  


“You get hit often?”  


“Only when I deserve it.”  


Mercutio flared internally, “No one deserves it.” What hellish nonsense—  


“I think I earned this one,” Tybalt said quietly. Then his face closed again, as if he was remembering himself. He frowned at Mercutio. “Can we go inside or are you just going to molest me on my balcony?”  


So that was that, then.  


“Depends,” He said carefully, not wanting to let it go but unable to resist such an easy mark, trying to keep his face serious, “Can I molest you when we’re inside?”  


Tybalt made a disgusted noise, pushing him off and walking back into his rooms, but the door stayed open this time.


End file.
